


Piety and Trick Doors

by crushinator



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Closet Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fear of Discovery, Zutara Week 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushinator/pseuds/crushinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katara has been chosen to be the First Waterbender in the Winter Solstice Festival. This involves being locked in a room by herself for a week. She is understandably frustrated... until Zuko comes to visit. Written for Zutara Week 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piety and Trick Doors

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place three years after Half-Asleep. Happy Zutara week 2015!

The village – a small city, really, now that the war was almost eight years gone and rebuilding had taken off in earnest – was wrapped up in preparations for the Winter Solstice Festival. Vats of sea prunes stewed at the center of every longhouse. Fires kept pace with the growing nights. Seal jerky cured in the smoke. People dug into their winter stores and pulled out dried berries, preserved fish, and sheets and sheets of shiny green seaweed. They took turns stoking the fires and keeping the stew from congealing when they weren't carving spears and boats and ikupasuy for the coming spring. Elders prepared the ceremonial facepaint and talked about old times. Waterbenders sealed cracks in the ice and sculpted spectacular statues of Wolf, Polar Tiger, and Raven. And everywhere, children shrieked and laughed and ran deliveries from one longhouse to another as their parents worked and chatted with each other and did their part to prepare for the oncoming festival.

There was only one person in the South Pole who wasn't doing any of those things, and if you asked her, she was totally fine with it, thank you very much. No matter what Sokka said. It was an honor to be elected to serve the community as the living incarnation of the First Waterbender in the annual reenactment of How Day Came Back. Even if it did require her to remain secluded from the rest of the tribe for a week. And she had no more reading material left. And no one would stick around to talk for more than a minute for fear of invoking the wrath of the gods. And the food they left was bland. And she couldn't do much waterbending unless she wanted to bring the whole building down on top of her head. Nope. Just fine with it. Not bored at all.

Oh, who was she kidding. The second the festival was over, she was going to find the person who threw her name into the nomination pool and freeze him to the underside of a hungry polar tiger. She hated having to sit in the stupid sacred room while the entire town was bustling around her. She wanted to help make ice sculptures or make paint with Gran-Gran or do anything really but mope by herself for a week and enact sacred rites. She missed her boyfriend. She missed her students. Hell, she even missed Sokka. Who had, by annoyingly lucky happenstance, been elected to play Wolf. He got to chase children around all day and pretend that he was going to eat them once he was done devouring the sun. Why didn't she get to be Wolf?

So what if the First Waterbender in the story slept and woke seven times alone in her igloo before convincing Wolf to not eat the sun? It wasn't as if she, Katara, was going to yank the actual sun from the actual Wolf's jaws and literally put an end to the Long Night. That part was all metaphorical. Why couldn't her part be metaphorical, too? Say, seven hours solitary vigil at the peak of the solstice instead of seven days hiding from everyone and eating special food and pretending to be asleep in a closet where no one could see her?

Overcome with the unfairness of it all, she kicked at the table in the center of the room. Her only source of light, a glowing blue bowl of a lantern, skidded dangerously across but didn’t fall. Katara almost wished it had. That way, she could at least ask for another one. She picked it up and considered smashing it just for a change of pace.

There was a knock at the door. Katara jumped. She nearly did break the lantern this time. It tumbled from her splayed fingers to the floor and bounced on the tiger-seal furs that covered the floor of her room, flickered, and went out. 

The person knocked again.

“Just a minute!” she said. "The light went out!"

She fumbled against the wall in the dark until her fingers brushed against a soft leather hanging. She slid it aside. Behind it was a block of ice. She unfroze the ice to reveal a cord, which she yanked. There was a grinding noise. A section of the wall slid open with a soft swish.

She re-froze the ice, dropped the hanging, and felt for the doorway, grumbling to herself about stupid, outdated rules. She found it in one step. Inside was a narrow, shallow space. One person could sit comfortably inside. Two, if they didn't mind being wedged against a bench. Three would need to be stuffed in with the butt of a spear. She settled down on the bench and pulled on a second rope, this one hanging freely in the confines of the clandestine closet. The door slid shut and locked itself with a low click.

“Okay!” she called. Her voice was filtered through a square, black screen mounted into the door at eye level. “Hope you brought your own light! I'm opening the door now!”

She tugged on another cord and a pale orange glow filled the antechamber. In walked a man in a parka that she thought she recognized as one of her father's. He didn't seem to be carrying anything, which was puzzling, as the only people who visited her either came to deliver food or replace her leavings pot. He looked from one side of her room to the other, taking in her sleeping furs piled in the corner, the low table in the middle of the room covered in open scrolls, and the little globe on its side on the floor.

He lifted his hand. A flame bloomed over it.

“Uh... hello?" he said. He cleared his throat. "Is this the right room?”

“Zuko!”

She pressed both hands against the door. It was wooden; one of the few things in the South Pole made of such precious material, soft from years of girls just like her pressing against it in the dark.

“Katara?” His head moved from side to side, and when he couldn't find her, he frowned. “Where are you?”

She knocked on the door. “I'm here! I'm stuck in this stupid closet. The whole tribe elected me to play the First Waterbender.”

“...the First Waterbender lives in a closet?”

“No! Well, sort of. Not exactly. Only on Solstice Week. That's why I'm stuck here instead of out there with everyone else. Here, let me shut the door.” She pulled the last cord again and the outer door swung securely shut. “This is my igloo.” 

Zuko frowned a little. “Aren’t igloos supposed to be rounder? And more… outside?” 

“It's symbolic.”

Zuko nodded a couple of times, glancing around the room. The flame in his hand flickered. He took in the pile of furs in the corner. One lay asynchronous to the rest. He straightened it with his foot.

“Oh, shut up,” said Katara.

Zuko’s head jerked towards her voice. “I didn't say anything!”

She folded her arms over her chest and slumped against the wall. “You were going to. I can tell.” 

“I was not. I'm being culturally sensitive. I'm not going to make fun of your symbolic igloo.”

She clapped a hand to her mouth to trap her laugh. She failed. Ungainly giggles followed.

Zuko lit the fallen lamp with a flick of his finger and placed it back on the table. He closed his open hand and the flame floating above it vanished. His face lit up briefly. There was a very small smile there. “I wasn't joking.”

“Come on. ‘Culturally sensitive?’ ' _Symbolic igloo_?'”

“That’s what you said.” 

“That’s so not what I said. You’re just embarrassed that I’m laughing at you.” 

He pulled off his gloves. “I'm not the one stuck in a closet.”

Katara frowned. “I'm not stuck! I can come out anytime!”

“So come out.”

“Absolutely not! No one can see me until the Solstice. It's the most important role in the whole festival. Being selected is an honor.” She straightened her back and stuck out her chin. “You'd know that if you were really serious about being 'culturally sensitive.'”

“You're bored out of your mind, aren't you?”

She slumped against the door. “Yes.”

He smiled. His fingers worked at his throat to undo the ivory buttons that held his parka closed. She watched him open it to reveal the blue of her tribe underneath. Now _this_ was new. He was clad head to toe in a typical warrior’s tunic, complete with leggings, boots, and arm bands. He'd even foregone his usual topknot in favor of a simple wolf tail. There was a shadow of stubble around his jaw. Someone had given him a whalebone choker to wear.

She whimpered. Zuko's raised his eyebrow.

"Why'd you have to show up now?" she groaned. "Why couldn't you have waited a couple of days? I'm free to do anything I want after the feast starts. This is so unfair. I haven't seen you in a month."

“You can see me?”

She flicked the screen so it made a twanging noise. His eyes snapped right to her. "Yes. But you can't see me. This thing's only see-through on the inside."

"I... see."

"Ha ha." She leaned her forehead against the door, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen, and Zuko. He was down to just his winter clothes now, his parka discarded in the homogenous mass of her sleeping furs. She could see shadows flickering at the ligaments of his neck that disappeared under his choker. There was a low belt tied over his hips. Her lips parted. She closed them, and swallowed.

"You look so good in that outfit,” she said. “Please be culturally sensitive more often."

His lips quirked. "As long as I'm here. These things are too warm to wear back home."

"Then I will find you some summer clothes and you will wear them all year round, so help me."

He walked to the door and pressed his face against the screen, cupping his hands on either side of his face. She stepped back so that he could see as much of her as possible given the lighting situation. She lightly ran her fingernails horizontally over her chest, right at the top of her breasts, and wished they were his fingernails instead. The sensation made her skin flutter.

She raised her hand to the screen. She could feel his face there, just out of her reach. He was warm from the parka he'd been wearing, or from his internal heat; she didn't know or care much. She felt him shift, and then got the distinct impression of something soft pressing against her hand. He pulled back.

Her life was completely unfair.

"I wish I could touch you," she said. She balled up her fists, pushing them against the depressingly solid door. 

Maybe she could push her luck and open it. Sneak around a little. It wasn't as if she'd be the first one to do it. And it wasn't as if they were likely to get caught. No one ever came by. Well, except Kanut, with her food. And Uki, with fresh pots. And Gran-Gran, to fill her in on the latest news. And Sokka, sometimes, to mess with her. 

No. She couldn't see a way around it.

Whoever put her name in the running for First Waterbender was going to get introduced to a lot of icicles down their shirt.

Zuko licked his lips, took two steps back. "Well," he said. "Well. If you can't touch me... maybe..."

He looked at her, unblinking. His hands tugged at the knot in his belt. It came loose, and he left it there, slightly untied.

"...we can pretend?" She finished. She clapped her hands together. "Oh. Yes. Yes, please. Let's do that. Let’s do that right now. Take off your shirt."

He eyed her. There was that slight smile again. "Slow down. I just got here.”

"No. I order you to take off your shirt."

He chuckled low in his throat (again, unfair), and pulled the belt from his hips to let his tunic fall open. She let out a long breath. He wasn't wearing anything at all underneath it. No bindings, no under-tunic, nothing. His chest, his stomach, everything above the waist was right there, stark in shadow, teasing her from the inside of his shirt. Warmth tingled between her legs. She could see the indent in his hips that led down to where she longed to touch. The shape of his collarbone. The scar over his sternum. She wondered if he was wearing anything under his leggings.

“What were you thinking?” she said, half chiding, half delighted. “You're going to freeze to death like that.”

He shrugged. “I was planning on staying warm in other ways.”

Her face heated up like a rock in a bonfire. “I can’t believe you just said that. That was so smooth."

He shrugged again. “Did it work?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Good.” 

He looped his loose belt around his hand, his eyes glinting in the soft blue light. One corner of his mouth rose just enough to be considered only dubiously legal. She wanted to suck on his neck until she bruised it.

"You're the worst," she said.

He dropped the belt on the floor. “Yep.”

She bit her lip. 

He shrugged one shoulder, languid and fluid, and the neck of his tunic widened and slid down his arm. He scratched the back of his head, his sharp elbow high so that the skin of his ribs stretched taut. closed his eyes, and leaned into his arm. The tunic hung off him, disheveled and lordlike.

That was something he could never get rid of, no matter what he wore. He would always be that outcast potentate resurrected by his own force of will. He fumbled his words and actions and tried so hard to make up for his mistakes that he often swung around to awkward instead of resplendent, but the earnest steel slinking under his skin gave him an edge unrivaled by lesser blades. He was a nicked, unbreakable thing, and he was hers.

The tunic fell to the ground. With it gone, she could see the shape of his legs; the bulge in his leggings. Yes, she thought. She she slid her hand underneath her top to find her right breast. Her areola settled between the base of her middle and index fingers. She squeezed. Her lips parted and she made a tiny, tight sound.

Zuko’s eyes flicked to her. "Tell me what you're doing," he said.

She brushed her hand over one nipple. “I'm, um. I’m touching myself. My hand's under my shirt. I'm wishing it was you. I want-” her breath hitched as her nipple rose and she caught it with a fingernail. Tingles like simmering water spread to her cheeks and neck.

“What do you want?” His voice was low and close. The door creaked as he leaned against it with one hand, his head bowed, his eyes fixed on her silhouette, his frame tense and relaxed at once, his free thumb hooked into the top of his leggings. Her vision pulsed.

“I want-” she breathed too quickly, closed her mouth, swallowed. “I want you to touch yourself too. Your chest. Start from the top. Do it slowly.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “All right,” he said.

He pushed backward from the door and placed three fingers into the indent of his collarbone. His hand, stiff-fingered, slid over the bone and on to his chest. Red trails stood up on his skin where it passed. She had a vision of the last time they'd been together, how she'd clutched at him, leaving marks like that on his arms and his shoulders. It had been a quick, fervent moment, him quiescent under her but his grip strong on her hips as she got off, the airship she was scheduled to take back home cutting precious minutes from their time together as the last of her things were loaded for departure, her lower lip between her teeth and her name hissed through his.

She pushed her skirt up and stroked herself through her leggings. It sent shivers from her core to her face and back down to her toes.

He worked his hands slowly down his body, starting at the neck. His hands pressed just where she wanted her own; his pectoral muscles, the crook of his neck, his upper arms. He pushed down on his ribcage and rolled his shoulders. His hands slid down to his hips and into the waistband of his leggings. He inched them down just a little, until the tops of his pelvic bones were visible. Then, he directed his hands upwards, right along his inguinal ligament. She moaned in protest.

“If you can moan,” he said, “You can tell me what you're doing to yourself.”

She watched him slide his hands along his sides, working them up over his chest, his neck, his face, and into his hair.

She ran her fingers up from the underside of her breast and across her nipple. It sent little pleasure spikes up her neck. “I'm. Um. I'm. This is surprisingly hard. Give me a minute.”

He balled up his discarded clothing, shoved it under the pillow on her sleeping furs, and used it to prop himself up against the wall while he lounged, feet on the floor, knees just spread. The lamplight cast pools of white-blue and black all over the places she was pretty sure would be great to run her tongue over. He let his arms lie loose, palms up, on either side of him. “It's just me.”

“I know,” she said. “Okay. Here goes.” She took a deep breath. “I'm touching my breasts under my clothes. I still have everything on. But my dress is untied. I know you like that.”

“Hm,” he replied, and dragged his hand, one finger at a time, over one thigh. She could just make out the root of his cock. He opened his legs a little more.

“I wish it was you touching me,” she said, spilling the words like tea. She slid two fingers into her own leggings, over her clit, and between her labia. Oh. Oh, yes, she’d needed that, she’d needed that so, so much. She leaned her forehead against the door. “I'm already wet. Just so you know. I wish you had your fingers in me. I wish you were pinning me against the wall while you got me off with your hand.”

“Just my hand?”

“Take off your pants,” she said.

He did as he was told. His cock rose into the lamplight, stiff as the whalebone choker around his neck. It twitched as he completely removed his leggings and shoved them under the pillows with the rest of his clothes. She added another finger to her self-ministrations imagined him inside her, hot and slick and angled just so. He took himself in one hand and moved his hand up and down, his grip light. He sucked in air sharply through his nose. It came out between his teeth.

“Katara,” he said.

“Zuko,” she said.

“I wish you were doing this.”

“You want me,” she said. Her face was hot. She was dizzy and giddy. “Ha ha.”

“Yes? We've been dating for three years.”

“Still. How embarrassing for you.” She slid the flat of her fingers up and down against her clit, ghosting them against her entrance in time with his strokes. Her eyes pricked with frustration. “Fuck. I want you in here.”

He put one arm behind his head as a pillow and continued to stroke himself for her; up, down, up, down. “What do you want to do to me?”

She licked her lips. “I want to freeze your wrists to the door and fuck you while you moan into my mouth.” She gasped, practically whispering at this point. “I want to make you go down on me while I-”

Three loud bangs cut her off. Both of them froze. Katara’s stomach did ten backflips. 

“Shit,” she hissed. “I forgot. It's Kanut. He's here with those stupid seaweed noodles I have to eat.”

Zuko pushed himself up by his elbows. “Noodles?”

“Doesn’t matter. Hold on.” 

The whites of Zuko's eyes shone at her as she fumbled with the door handle. She yanked on the rope. The door to her closet swung open. Before he could say or do anything else, Katara grabbed Zuko's hand, pulled him into the closet, and shut the door behind them.

It was a very, very tight squeeze. Zuko stood back against the wall with one leg up on the bench. Every breath they took seemed to echo, sending spikes of heat straight to the place between her legs she wished she was still touching. 

“Hi,” said Zuko.

She shoved her hands in his hair and kissed him. She kissed him as if she were in the Si Wong desert and he was a dish of frozen mango. She kissed him like kissing him would grant her eternal youth if she did it enthusiastically enough. She kissed him like she hadn't seen him in a month and would like nothing more than to spend all day reminding him of all the places she liked to be touched and all the ways she could make him come for her. He stumbled, kept his balance, and kissed her fervently back.

She pulled away. He half growled, half moaned.

She held her finger to her mouth. “Shh. We have to be quiet.”

“I’ll be quiet,” he promised, his eyes on her lips.

She swallowed. With great effort, she turned around, pulled on the rope that controlled the outer door, and let Kanut in with her food.

He was a thin, youngish man. Katara sort of remembered him from her days under Master Pakku. He always reminded her of a swamp reed in a stiff wind. The effect was heightened by the high-collared ceremonial parka he had to wear. He carried a lightly laden tray before him; her midday meal: bland soup with seaweed noodles and uneven chunks of meat.

“Lady Waterbender,” he called. “I bring your food.” 

“I tha- ech, mm, I thank you,” she stammered, because Zuko had pressed his lips against the place where her shoulders met her neck and bit her there right when she started to talk. Gooseflesh spilled over her legs and arms like hot water. She could feel his erection through her clothes, straining against the cleft of her ass.

I'm going to be cursed by the moon, she thought, grinding back against him. I'm going to be cursed by the moon and I don't care.

“Please, ah, put it down on the table.”

Zuko slid his hands over her bindings and pulled them down. Her breasts were pushed upwards, her nipples hard against the smooth surface of the door in front of her. She whimpered.

“I acknowledge you, and I thank you for your sacrifice.”

She took in a deep, steadying breath. “I accept your acknowledgment. And I honor you for your kindness.”

Kanut nodded and slowly began the process of unloading his tray in the correct order. Behind her, Zuko fumbled one-handed with the waistline of her leggings. He pressed his other hand against the crux of her legs, rubbing her slowly, up and down, his hand hot through the fabric. She shoved her fingers in her mouth and bit down to keep from vocalizing and grasped the base of his cock. It was hot and hard and oh she’d missed this.

“As the First Tribesman did before me, I bring you the bounty of La to nourish you.” Kanut lowered the bowl of seaweed noodles to the table.

A bead of pre-come slid down between her fingers. She glided her hand up and down Zuko's shaft and over his swollen head. His breath hitched in her ear.

“I bring the flesh of Arviq to sustain you.”

He pushed her hand away. She nearly whimpered with disappointment until he dropped to his knees, pulling her leggings and undershorts down with him in one smooth gesture. Her thoughts were replaced entirely with exclamation marks.

“And I bring you water, blessed by Tui, to replenish you in your meditations.”

Somewhere in the distance, she heard the solid clink of ceramic on stone. It was simultaneously heightened and muffled; as if she were underwater and the cup clacked on a rock she was touching. She put two knuckles in her mouth and rested her incisors on them, her thumb hooked around her cheek. Zuko pushed up her skirt. Hot breath rolled over her fist and her folds.

“Please,” she whispered.

Zuko swiped his tongue along the cleft between her legs, root to bud. Her knees went limp as kelp. She overbalanced, started to fall to one side, and Zuko caught her, pushed her up, and braced her by draping one leg over his shoulder. She slid upwards, her back against the door, eyes on the ceiling. She breathed in sharp. He licked again; deeper this time, slower.

“May Tui and La protect you on your voyage through the white overworld.”

Zuko yanked her skirt up higher, so his fist was balled against her chest. Her hips jutted forward. Zuko's lips and tongue sucked and licked hot against her and she broke like a wave. Hissing little moans escaped her with every motion of his tongue. She couldn’t stop them. She needed to stop them. She took her skirt from him and stuffed the hem of it between her teeth. Then, with shaking fingers, she reached down to Zuko's head and carded her hand into his hair.

Her own hair framed her face as she looked down at him. His eyes were shut in concentration. Both his hands held her steady; one on her ass, one on the underside of her thigh. Her skin dented where he gripped. His tongue thrust inside her; in, out, in again, then out and up to her clit, where he licked and sucked at the same time, making her jerk and tremble from head to toe. The strings inside her tightened. He opened his eyes and looked up, his mouth and nose still buried in her. The sight made her dizzy. She moaned. 

Audibly.

Zuko paused. There was a space of a few silent seconds outside the door. Horrible fervor shot through Katara's belly; had Kanut heard her? She pushed her hips forward, heat rising through her neck. Zuko slowly, slowly licked again and she shook with the thrill of it. They could get caught. They could get caught at any second. Her cheeks flushed and her center throbbed.

“...may you pass under the gaze of the Skull Raven and the Winter Shades unseen and unheard.”

She breathed. He hadn’t heard her. And if he had, he’d written it off, or had chosen not to comment, or something. It didn’t matter. What did she care? With her dress in her mouth and her fist against her face and her leg hooked over Zuko’s shoulder jerking every time he leaned the smallest distance backward, the size of her world was decreasing to the spaces between her legs and her ears.

Zuko let go of her thigh and slipped two fingers inside her. He crooked them at the tip and pushed against a particular spot of her inner walls that he knew would make her toes curl. And curl they did. She felt as if she were about to spill over. Shining dust motes clouded her vision with every pulse of his tongue, every slide of his hand. They swirled together in a maelstrom of mellow light. Soon, they were all she could see.

Katara jerked her chin up. Her head slid down the door by jerking inches as her back arched into an eager push of her hips against Zuko’s mouth. She had no idea what was going on outside the door now; and frankly, she did not care. All her senses were muffled save for the one that just gave her a fantastic orgasm. Zuko kept licking, gentler now, and slower, sending pleasure spikes from her belly to her cheeks. Every part of her felt washed in the first flush of drunkenness.

“May Arviq keep you on your journey. And may your dreams guide you to the thread where Su hides.”

She released her hold on Zuko’s hair and spat out her skirt. Before it fully unfurled she hauled him to his feet for a kiss. He threw himself into it, one arm around her waist, one on the back of her head, pinning her against the door. His lips were salty and tangy. She loved tasting herself on him. She loved how hot his face was, how slick, how flushed. She guided him inside her. His eyes widened, then closed, then opened again, half lidded. He grinned.

“You’re terrible,” he mouthed.

She grinned back and pushed one finger to his lips. Outside the door, she could hear a shuffling of fabric; probably Kanut gathering his accoutrements and preparing to leave until her next meal. Inside the door, Zuko pressed his forehead to hers, and pushed into her with a sigh like he was sinking into hot water. She hooked her leg around his. She rested her arms on his shoulders, one hand coming up from behind to trace his jawline from chin to ear.

She’d missed him so much.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

He kissed her in response.

“We are with you, Lady Waterbender,” said Kanut.

She broke her kiss with Zuko, who made a sound like she’d just taken his dessert. She put her hand over his mouth and held him in place with her leg. 

“And I am with you,” she called.

Another shuffling of fabric. Kanut had probably just bowed. Zuko pulled her hand away from his mouth and kissed her neck, just where her shoulder began. It sent tingles all the way down to her feet. She gasped softly. Zuko smiled against her neck.

Kanut coughed. 

“Lady Waterbender.”

This wasn’t part of the ritual. Katara grabbed a handful of Zuko’s hair and pulled him away from her neck. Did Kanut suspect something? What was he going to do? 

“I, uh, yes? I mean, what is it?”

“If you could please close the door...”

She fumbled for the cord. “Yes! Great! I will! Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

She yanked the cord harder than she meant to and slammed the door, probably in Kanut’s face. Oh well. Then she found the other cord, the one that would let her and Zuko out of the closet, and pulled it without warning him. They tumbled onto the furs that covered the floor of her room.

“You,” she said, accusingly.

“Me?” said Zuko, kissing her neck.

“You are the worst.”

“I’m the worst? You’re the one who instigated.”

She cupped the back of his neck and guided him towards the shallows of her collarbone. “Yes. Well. You should have been the better person.”

“You’re the better person and you know it.”

“So what? Maybe sometimes you need to be the better person. Maybe sometimes I should be allowed to be terrible and you should stop me.”

He pulled away, looked down at her, his good eyebrow furrowed, his eyes concerned. “Should I have done that? Did you want me to stop you?”

“Absolutely not.”

She pushed her hips against him, assertive and insistent. His shoulders shook. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. When he spoke, his voice was strained. 

“Can- can I-”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

He slid inside her again, easy and fast. A sweet jolt hit her as his hips struck hers, and he pushed her over a hillock of furs so that her hips tilted at just the right angle to make every stroke a headrush of pleasure for her. She lightly brushed his face and whispered to him what a good idea that was, how wonderful it was to have him with her again, how good he felt inside her, how she had needed him, how perfect he’d looked in the furs of her tribe, and other pieces of quick and quiet praise that bled into sibilance and made his breath hitch and his hips move in ragged undulation. He breathed hard and shook, clutching at her shoulders, his nose behind her ear as he kissed and panted at her neck in staccato turns. She could hear repeating syllables of her name. She tightened her muscles. He came in a stiff susurrus of uncontrol.

He let his neck go limp, dropped his forehead against hers. She let him lie there, pliant and hot over her until the sweat they generated between them began to cool and he stopped twitching inside her, and rolled her elbow. They sprawled side by side. He looked at her through half-lidded eyes. He cupped one breast, lazily smiling, and she ran her fingers down the curve of his spine.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

She kissed him, long and slow and gentle. That was about all the energy she had to spare. She was warm, warm all over, which translated to a pliancy of the limbs and satisfaction low in her belly and a total refusal to do anything that expended excess effort. She was sure she could find satisfaction in him forever; only, for now, it was nice to just feel his lips on hers. Nicer, even, than secret trysts behind closed doors.

“So,” she whispered, her lips still barely touching his. “Just so you know. We’re probably going to be cursed by the moon spirit.”

He laughed against her mouth. Kissed her once, twice, three times in quick succession. “Yue, right? Didn’t Sokka date her?”

“They only went on, like, one date. That’s probably not worth us violating the integrity of the entire Solstice festival.”

“Maybe she was into it.”

She drew back in mock horror. “Zuko. Are you insinuating that the Moon Spirit watched us have sex in a closet while some poor bystander overheard us... and _liked it_?” She paused. The pleasant fluttering in her chest took different turn as her mock horror translated into something a bit less mock. “Oh. Right. Kanut _overheard_ us. He… definitely overheard us. Did you hear him pause when I moaned? He definitely- oh. Oh spirits, what do we do, we’re going to be in so much trouble. What if he tells Gran-Gran? What if he tells _Pakku_ -”

If he told Pakku, she’d be embarrassed enough to die. Him and the rest of the tribe would make her rue her decisions so much that she’d have to run away, join up with the swampbenders, wear leaves for the rest of her life and never ever show her face to anyone she knew again. Zuko would have to go with her because the Fire Nation probably wouldn’t be happy to hear that their leader got caught desecrating another nation’s holy religious festival with the most important figure in it. Or maybe they’d like it? Spirits, what if they liked it? There were a lot of smug jerks in the Fire Nation.

The smug jerk currently lying next to her didn’t look nearly as nervous as he should. This was all his fault. Stupid, sexy Zuko. She gripped his upper arms and tried not to hyperventilate. 

“Hey,” he said, sliding his hand into her hair. He cradled the back of her head with his hand. She stilled. “It’s okay.”

“No! It isn’t okay at all! He’s probably telling someone _right now_!”

“I’ll find him. Would that help?”

She swallowed. Took in a few deep, calming breaths. Nodded.

“Okay.”

Zuko kissed her quickly, then levied himself up and reached under the pillows for the clothes he’d discarded earlier. Katara rearranged her own outfit so she didn’t look so compromising. Not that anyone was likely to see her. Since she’d already broken the taboo, she half wished Zuko could stay with her and they could talk for the next few hours about what they’d been up to for the past month. But until he found Kanut and made sure everything was okay, it wasn’t worth allowing the rising anxiety in her chest to become full blown panic.

Besides. She’d see him again. She’d always see him again. She’d see him again and again and again until they both moved on to the spirit world, and then, in their next lives, she’d find him and they’d start all over.

Zuko stood to leave. 

“Hey,” she said.

He stopped buttoning his parka. “Yeah? What is it?”

She grabbed his sleeve. “I love you.”

He smiled, turned away, covered his mouth, pressed it into his hand. Turned back to her. “I love you, too.”

She grinned. “Good. I’ll expect you back here later. Oh!” She held up one finger. “Bring me some new scrolls once you find Kanut. I’m all out of reading material. And some snacks. You know what I like.”

“Okay. Will you be in the closet when I come back?”

“Only until I’m sure it’s you.”

He kissed her, quick and easy. She cupped the side of his face, the side his scar was on, and kissed him right back.

******

In the Spirit World, Yue, delighted that the activities of this year’s First Waterbender surpassed those of last year’s, exchanged excited high fives with the Ocean and Sun Spirits. They then retired to their shared chambers and discussed what they’d witnessed in earnest; verbally and bodily.

In the South Pole, Zuko found Kanut. He hadn’t told anyone what he’d heard, but he made sure to imply certain things whenever Zuko was around over the next few days. This resulted in Zuko choking on a wide variety of beverages. Kanut neglected to tell Zuko that Katara wasn’t the first person to take advantage of the solitude granted by her festival station by a long shot. He also neglected to tell Zuko that Gran-Gran had won the betting pool.

And in her room, moments after Zuko left, Katara discovered that her noodles were cold.

"Worth it," she whispered, and took another bite.


End file.
